Twice the love, Blessed from above
by R3DR0CKY
Summary: As Wanda searches for clarity in her memories, clarity finds her, and never has it been so unclear. Set post-Apocalypse.


**Chapter 1**

The embers from the floral scented candles bloomed amongst every table at _Café Boulud_, the classiest restaurant in all New York, and so secluded, the waitlist is years extensive. It stood on the peak of a hilltop, making it a beautiful landmark that allied well with Albany's rich and creamy existence. The sun's enflamed halos peaked its way across the estates, striking through the unblemished windows, claiming the faces of charmed guests, and aligned magnificently with scented delight the café had to offer.

The maîtres treated the guests with such admirable respect and joy that the lack of it has never been so observable in Bayville. Here, everyone is treated equally, despite the prejudiced mayhem occurring right outside its walls. And from it, forgetting all the mayhem has never been so simple.

Wanda arose her gaze from behind her menu to her brother across from her, who'd been twirling his fork impatiently, ready to order.

The sun's stream of glimmers coupled with the reddened embers captured his effeminate features so delicately that Wanda looked aside of the irked expression that she was so callous of, and smiled at the rare beauty seen of her brother.

"Thank you, Pietro. I didn't think you were capable of being so sweet." She told him, breaking the long silence between them.

He swiftly snapped to attention, noting his sister's small but grateful smile, a rarity, one that almost made him smile.

He smirked instead.

"What can I say? I'm a natural when it comes to the ladies."

He plastered a hesitant but sincere expression. "But of course, Wand' you deserve this. I mean… you're my sister."

Wanda's smile broadened, as she'd finally witnessed her brother swallow his pride and said something genuine and much appreciated. Not to mention selfless, a rarity.

He gave her a quick, stiff smile then shifted his attention back to fork gymnastics. She relieved her smile as silence threatened to engulf them again. "Should I ask how you're able to afford all of this?"

"I have my ways," he smirked.

Wanda gave a perceptible stare from behind her menu.

"Alright, alright." He sighed. "I dipped into father's savings, no big deal."

"Well I'm suppose I'm glad you didn't thieve around for this."

"And even if I did, that wouldn't make you deserve it any less," he grinned.

Wanda let another smile show, ignoring his references for his neurotic tendencies. She reached out her black polished fingers to grip his idle hand, and held on despite his obvious stiffness. "I wish you were like this all the time, Pietro." The locked eyes for a moment, though it was as if a mirror was placed in between them, the cerulean crescents each possessed were of equal merits. "Happy birthday, dear brother."

"Yeah… well, you should've saved that wish for the birthday cake," he said awkwardly, removing his hand from her hold. "And since I'm the host, I think I reserve the right to say happy birthday."

Wanda rolled her eyes with a teasing scoff and returned to her menu. She musingly accepted the likelihood that Pietro was simply an occasional gentleman and a frequent prick. At least he knows now how she'd like him to treat her, and she left it at that.

She found herself pondering over the day's experience rather than the menu, over how'd he persuaded her to plaster on her finest shimmery sable gown with makeup of equal elegance, to accompany him in a "siblings-only ride" in Lance's jeep, him consoling her through the hours long journey to this "surprise." Even though she arrived relatively annoyed, she nearly cried as she never recollected her brother doing something so supple and thoughtful for her. And even before this, her roommates, or companions she finally admits, equally showered her with gifts from the funds they'd earned from their war efforts against Apocalypse. She'd never remember having friends that gave her anything for her birthday, but most importantly, she and Pietro never shared such a delicate moment since her introduction to the Brotherhood.

"Did you find what you wanted for dinner yet?"

"Uh," she said, glancing swiftly at all of her options. "I'll take the roasted pear salad." She blushed slightly at the length of time she spent staring at the menu, pondering.

Soon after, the maîtres attended to them, much to Pietro's relief, and gave them what exactly what they ordered, _to the tea_.

They ate in silence, eating their meals along with the accompanying sounds of utensils clinking.

"So what did the boys give you?" she asked casually.

"…What?"

"Gifts. Did the boys give you anything?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Of course." He nodded, then a look of remembrance peaked through his expression. "Speaking of gifts," he said, peering through his darkened tux and retrieving a small brown bag. "For you." He smirked.

She gathered the small bag in her arms and opened to a gift of… ballet shoes?

Holding them between her fingers, she surveyed the scarlet shoes, with elegantly organized diamonds rowed on the tips.

At first she was indifferent, even showing the expression on her face, but as she gazed at them, a sense of familiarity, warmth and such wander filled her heart. She couldn't figure out where these feelings originated.

"I, uh… knew you had a thing for ballet when we were young," he said, adapting to her expression. "I saw them in a store one day. Hopefully you still feel the same way about it," he shrugged.

"Um," she began, unable to decide whether to thank him, or question him on his knowledge of such a sacred desire, that even she'd been unaware of until now.

"By my stars and garters," interrupted an awed voice, hovering over their table. Both met to the awestruck gape of an old, Egyptian-looking man, with a thick, long beard and widened grey eyes.

Wanda huffed at the man, expecting malevolent intentions for his presence and disturbance. However she noticed Pietro shared an equally awestruck gaze at the man, as his brows and pale lips were widened with shock.

"Django?" Pietro spoke first.

"Pietro… Wanda…" The man responded, clasping his hands as if glorified he met God. "I-I can't believe I've found you… after all these years! My children!"

Wanda exchanged her questioning look with uneasiness as she fleetingly thought the man was a psychotic, but Pietro's gaze suggested otherwise, as he shot her a worry-some and guilty glance.

"What's going on?" she asked the both of them.

"Wanda my dear," he breathed, kneeling before her and taking her now-vacant hands into his own. "Don't tell me you don't remember me?" he searched frantically in her eyes, puffing at the possibility.

When she gave him a confused expression he continued. "I'm your step-father my dear," he looked over at the now tense Pietro, who guiltily locked gaze with the man. "Pietro, my son, you remember me don't you?"

Pietro looked elsewhere desperately, as if trying to find another scene to advert their attention. Even Wanda hadn't ever made him so nervous. "Oh, um… I-uh, yeah… um yeah. Yeah, it's been awhile hasn't it?" He said settling his gaze at the floor. Wanda nearly called him out on his behavior, as it was obvious he was hiding something.

"Yes, it has. Nearly two decades."

"Step-father?" Wanda snarled, snatching her hands away.

Django stepped back and brought his hands to his chest. "Django Maximoff." He explained and continued as Wanda perked upon hearing they shared last names. "I raised you for five, long adventurous years. I've welcomed you lovingly into my family of Gypsies."

She eyed the man warily.

Pietro cleared his throat and gulped loudly. "Why are you here, Django?"

"It's a long story my son," he ginned placing a relaxed hand on Pietro's shoulder. "I'd love to tell you, but I'm more troubled that your sister doesn't remember me." He gave her a saddened and concerned stare.

"Yeah, it was a long time ago," Pietro said dramatically, speedily rising to his feet and mock-stretched. "I mean who can blame her."

He quickly tossed his tender on the table and turned towards Wanda in a frantic acknowledgement.

"Ready, sis'?"

Wanda shot glances between them, lips slightly ajar from surprise. Letting out a troubled puff through her nose, she gathered her purse and new shoes and followed her pacing brother, pressing her lips together to not promote further conversation.

She'd been actually curious to see what the man meant to them, but she entrusted Pietro in that leaving the man be is their smartest move.

"Wait!" Django said grabbing her arm. Pietro looked back at him, almost in panic.

He sighed, looking wild as he wore casual jeans and a pirate-like dress shirt.

He pulled out a little doll, a female teddy bear doll with long brown stringy hair and offered it to her.

"For you. For you both. We'll meet again soon under better circumstances, I promise. Happy birthday my twins."

Wanda hesitantly accepted the toy and moved along with her brother's sudden tug on her arm.

She gazed back at him when they'd reached the jeep, who shared an equally curious stare, though still rooted in the spot he'd been. Pietro tried to maintain the silence about it, but Wanda couldn't help herself from unloading on him. _Who exactly is this man?_ She questioned. _Was he being honest with his story? Why'd only Pietro recall him? _And she asked him, but of course he lied, his story made sense but his bodily gestures and ques gave himself away. He said something about she and him had a traumatizing relationship, and that she probably forgot him to save herself the stress. But that doesn't explain her memories. The memories of the dear, sweet maiden her real father hired that watched over Pietro and herself until they were of age to watch over each other. There's no way in the world those memories were false, they were as clear as day, as cheerful as rainbows.

On their way to the X-mansion to meet their father as his last "surprise", and as they'd snuck off and had a private conversation, no doubt about her, she mused that maybe _Pietro_ and this man had a troubled relationship where he never wanted to involve his sister. Pietro was always a trouble-maker, and this man probably interjected into Pietro's life somehow and then fixated himself on the twins.

None of it made sense, and her father refused to acknowledge the subject. They'd finished up the day in awkward collaboration with her brother stiff and father indifferent, thoughtful and avoidant.

Since it been a special day and none wished to protrude on the situation, she dropped the subject for the night, confident that the truth would eventually find her.


End file.
